


Lift With Your Back, Not Your Knees

by SightlessNinja



Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [14]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Relationships, F/F, Fodlan Summer Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SightlessNinja/pseuds/SightlessNinja
Summary: Welcome to day 14 of the Fodlan Olympics! Today is the men's wrestling and the men's weightlifting!
Relationships: Hapi/Constance von Nuvelle
Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881421
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Lift With Your Back, Not Your Knees

Thud. Two men meet the ground, one pinning the other. Balthus von Albrecht, sprawled across his opponent, his massive frame allowing him to claim the match.

Balthus turned to the crowd and raised his arms in celebration, a smile wide on his face in ecstasy. The referee stood the two up and raised the arm of the victor, much to the adulation of the onlookers, and Balthus pumped his other fist.

All that was left was the final match.

He was led to a fresh mat in the middle of the venue. Passing through the volunteers, the other coaches and combatants, the cameramen. He ignored all of them, focusing on his destination. Of what was coming next. Sweat beaded down his forehead in anticipation as he mentally prepared for the chance to be a gold medalist.

“Balthus von Albrecht, take the red corner.” He climbed up onto the raised platform and crossed the circular mat to take his place, breathing in and out slowly. This was it. He was practically shaking inside his skin. A medal was his, and now he would empty out his tank to determine if it was Silver or Gold.

The referee came to his corner to check his equipment. Balthus’ took good care of his gear and kept it impeccable as always. His lilac and grey singlet, his blood rag, and his wrestling shoes were all up to regulation standards. The referee shook his hand before moving on to his opponent’s corner. He gazed over to the Adrestian man in the headgear. They locked eyes for a brief second and he knew they were having the same thought. This guy’s in my way.

The two were motioned into the middle and shook hands to start, then took their stance and waited. The whistle blew, signaling the start of the first period of the match. The two men lunged for each other, testing the waters. They threw their weight against each other, pushing, grabbing, barring. Balthus took an opening and grasped his opponent’s shoulders, bringing him into a clinch. He began to slowly push his opponent out of bounds, manhandling him every step of the way. The brute of the man pushed back but he was losing ground. After thirty tense seconds of brute force and pushing and pulling, Balthus sent his opponent out of bounds. The referee’s whistle sang its harsh tune, and a point was awarded.

“And here we are with the final match in the wrestling event!” Anna announced, her magnified voice booming through the stadium. “Balthus von Albrecht is up by one point after pushing his opponent out of bounds. He is certainly living up to his nickname, the King of Grappling, this year.”

Balthus was pushing his opponent back again, almost immediately, the strength disparity between the two evident when the whistle blew once again. The referee signaled for his opponent to enter the par terre position, which allowed Balthus to enter the clinch once again. When the match blew live again, Balthus got to work, subduing the thrashing man beneath him. The two grappled in a stalemate, neither one giving up. The whistle blew once more. It was Balthus’ turn to enter the par terre position, their positions now flipped. He stretched his arms out and made sure his legs made a 90-degree angle with the ground. Now it was his turn to defend in the clinch. Balthus quickly flipped onto his back, defending against his opponent’s attempts to pin him. Regardless of the man’s efforts, Balthus wouldn’t go down. He managed to escape his first real challenge of the match without giving up the points.

“Nice. That’s the end of the first, and B’s up by one!” Hapi exclaimed, sitting in the bleachers watching the match with anticipation. She looked at her friend reassuringly. “Think he’s got this Yuri-bird?”

“He has dominated the competition so far, but you never truly know until it’s over,” Yuri responded non-commitally in typical fashion. But she knew how nervous he was for their friend. This was the big leagues. “If he keeps it up, however, he’ll easily win,” he said with a slight smile.

The referee blew live again, and the assembled members of the Ashen Wolves, as the independent athletes had dubbed themselves, quickly returned their attention to the match. Balthus again deftly got a hold of his opponent and began to force him any direction he wished. His confidence was showing and he was developing an easy rhythm.

“Balthus von Albrecht has two points to his opponent’s zero,” Anna commented. “His strength is really showing, and giving him the point cushion against the Adrestian contender. It’s looking a little one-sided at the moment, but let’s see if either of these men have surprises in store for us.”

Balthus quickly began to push again, trying for a third point when his opponent threw his body under Balthus’, allowing his momentum to take him out of the ring, turning the situation. “And there’s his opponent’s first point!” Anna commented, eagerly waiting to see what came next.

Damn it. Balthus thought. He’d gotten over-eager. But no use in dwelling on it. One point wouldn’t sink him.

“Poppycosh, he can afford to lose one here and there. Balthus is sure to achieve the gold medal still!” Constance looked straight at Yuri when she said this, the implicit “I told you so” evident in her tone. And patted the shoulder of their quiet friend Jeritza who nodded to agree with her words.

“Yeah. He’s got this Coco,” Hapi said, beaming at her wife. As the referee whistle signaled the resumption of the match, Balthus shot forward like a cannonball. A new fire under his ass. He instantly grappled his opponent, before twisting and throwing the man over his head, falling back while controlling his opponent’s descent.

“That throw is worth five points!” Anna exclaimed out of pure shock. “That was sure a surprise. I think the poor man is as shocked as we are, still finding which way is up. The technical mastery needed to even attempt a move like that within a final match. Spectacular!”

Balthus sprang on his opportunity, pinning the bulky man's shoulders to the ground. They were both breathing heavily now, the exertion of the match catching up and taking its toll. But Balthus was not letting up. This could be it… He essentially glued the writhing wrestler beneath him to the mat. Putting all of his muscle behind him. Time to prove these weren’t just for show. He thought internally with a smirk.

“One. Two. Three.” The referee’s staccato tone counted the seconds Balthus held his pin until the whistle blew... for the final time.

“Balthus von Albrecht wins by fall!” Balthus releases him with a disbelieving chuckle. He’d really done it? He stands up, blowing a kiss to the crowd before letting out a triumphant yell.

He’d really done it.

Yuri, Constance, and Hapi were on their feet, cupping their hands around their mouths as their jubilant cheers joining the rest of the crowd. Balthus picked them out over the sea of others and gave them a wave. Constance waved back and Hapi gave a small salute of two fingers from her forehead. Jeritza, who still sat with his arms crossed, relented, and clapped with an appreciative nod. The light feeling he had in his chest in the wake of this win was only matched and amplified knowing he had people with him, just as eager as he was for this victory, and the merit that came with it. The validation of every drop of sweat leading to this moment.

Anna made her way from the media tables over to Balthus. “Mr. Albrecht, how does it feel to win the gold medal today?”

“It feels amazing Anna. It’s the culmination of years of training and competition in its own right,” he grinned, smile glinting

“What comes next for you after the Olympics?”

“Training. Gotta stay prepared for the next competition. People are gonna come for the King of Grappling with everything they’ve got.” Balthus puffed his chest with pride.

“Your nickname has made its way around the community and many see it as a sign of arrogance. What do you say to that?”

“Well, I got it early in my career. It wasn’t anything other than my performance and my muscles that got me that.” His face adopts a self-assured smile as he visibly relaxes, and flexes once to show off a bit. He’s sure his friends are rolling their eyes. But that was part of the fun.

“Well, it looks like it’s time for the medal ceremony so we will have to let you go but thank you for your time. Congratulations again Mr. Albrecht!”

“Thank you, Anna.” Balthus left the ring and was ushered toward the podium. He basked in the crowd’s applause as he made his way to the top position, where he was happy to belong. The Olympic flag flew the highest and he stood with a proud grin upon his face.

“After that riveting performance from Balthus von Albrecht, stay with us, we’ll be moving over to men’s weightlifting. The 109 kilograms divisions are entering the final swing, and we’ve seen two clear favorites rise above the rest in Holst Goneril and Dedue Molinaro. These two have absolutely dominated the qualifiers and we are excited to see who will come out on top.”

“I always get so nervous watching these events,” Ashe said, his hands drumming against his thighs from his seat in the stands. “He’s battling his opponents, his own strength, and gravity.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. If anybody can get the leg up on Holst, though, it’s our boy,” Dimitri said fondly.

Dedue made his way towards the stage where a barbell thick with colored weights laid. He chalked up his hands, rubbing the white powder across his palms and fingers - doing all the little things right to help keep his grip. He paused in front of the barbell, flexing his fingers and taking one more deep breath.

“Dedue’s first lift in the snatch event will be 200 kilos,” The announcer spoke.

The bell rang, and Dedue grabbed onto the bar, and in a single clean move, executed his lift. He swiftly swung it over his head and held the position perfectly, his stony expression giving away none of the extreme effort it was putting on him. The bell rang once more, signaling the end and he released it with a thud on the padded mats. He left the stage as stoically as he’d come.

“And with the final snatch of the first round is Holst Goneril. Holst is attempting to lift 208 kilograms.”

Holst took the stage next, his massive build shining through the golden singlet and grey undershirt. Holst quickly took his position, similar to Dedue’s. A bell sounded and Holst found his stance. In one fluid motion, he practically flung the barbell above his head and stood up in the same line of energy. It was impressive to see the simplicity of the action as if the weight were a stick. He completed the time needed to count it as a success before he dropped the barbell back down and took a moment to pump up the crowd before walking off.

When it was time for Dedue’s second snatch. He made his way towards the stage, the 207-kilogram barbell sitting in front of him. He had repeated the tradition of chalking his hands before his lift. The bell rang, and Dedue repeated the motion of his first lift, although a bit more strenuous. The bell rang again, and he dropped the barbell once more. Methodical. Practiced. And once again, made his way off the stage with his trademark expression.

Holst came up for his second snatch. There were very few left in the competition besides the two, much of the field falling away at the 200 kilograms mark. But Dedue was giving him a fight and he reveled in it. This could be fun. He made his way to the stage, this time going for 215 kilograms. The bell rang, and he made it look easy with how quickly he lifted the barbell. Another successful run.

The third round came. It was Dedue’s final lift of the snatch, and he was going for 212 kilograms. Winning this round wasn’t crucial, he still had the second half of the match with the Clean and Jerk to pull back the slight difference in points. He made his way back to the stage, repeating his rituals for good luck. The bell rang, and he lifted the bar cleanly. His expression didn’t show the effort but his arms shook the slightest bit as he reached full extension. But he held on, counting in his head, every second adding to the burn in his arms and he dropped the bar when he’d done it. A good start. He had done his best but his best was silver.

“It looks like Holst is going for a world record in the snatch with a 220-kilogram lift. Seems like he decided to oblige Dedue’s fight after all,” Anna commented.

Holst made his way to the stage for his third time. He stood in front of the bar for a little bit, pumping himself and the crowd up. He then sank into a stance and lifted. He grunted as he lifted and waited until the bell rang. The seconds ticked on, and the audience waited on bated breaths. Until the final signal came and he dropped the bar with a world record under his belt.

The media coverage blew up, excitedly mentioning what this meant for his chances. The audience played into it, celebrating being there to watch records be broken and history made.

A short intermission was announced as the athletes prepared for the clean and jerk. Deduce was waiting silently in contrast to the loud room when Holst approached him.

“You did good. I didn’t think I’d have to go for two, let alone three. Gimme that same fight on the next event, alright?” Holst grinned at the young man in front of him.

“I will do my best,” Dedue replied.

The intermission ended and it was time for the clean and jerk. As always, the competitor who was lifting the lighter weight went first. So after every other competitor had made their way through their first clean and jerk, Dedue found himself standing in front of the 237-kilogram barbell. He took a deep breath and got into his stance, and the bell clanged. He pulled the weight up to his shoulders and held it for a moment, before lifting it above his head and standing until the bell released him from the weight.

Holst was up next, and he found himself looking down 247 kilograms. He set himself into his stance and awaited the bell. When it rang Holst lifted with a grin on his face. The exertion he seemed to find exciting, and as the bell rang once more he dropped it back in place.

The order eventually made its way back to Dedue, who was attempting a 243-kilogram lift. It pulled a deep breath from him as he rolled his hands across the familiar metal that smelled of the other competitors' sweat and oil. He lifted it with gusto, and successfully completed the motion before walking back off. He felt the first strain on his muscles at the day's events.

“He’s playing from behind in the snatch. But he can’t think about that,” Ashe thought aloud. Dimitri hummed his agreement.

“He practically has silver in the bag, but I don’t think he’ll do anything rash. That’s something about him. He is steady as they come,” Dimitri responded. Ashe was quick to agree.

A barbell with 255 kilograms of weight awaited Holst for his next lift. He got into a stance and once the bell rang, grit his teeth as he pulled the beam into the correct position. When the bell rang he dropped the bar with a whooo breathed out through his teeth. All he had left was his final lift. But these were starting to add up.

Dedue arrived on the stage for his final lift. Other competitors might be tempted to go for the biggest weights available. But most would end their careers or sustained injuries at the end of the competition trying to outdo someone else and make a name. That wasn’t Dedue’s way. He wasn’t here to beat anyone else- just himself. The barbell sat in front of him, all 248 kilograms of his personal best looking back at him. If he didn’t lift it on a world stage then it didn’t count toward his metrics. He was ready to unleash it.

The bell rang, and Dedue followed his rhythm. He strained to get the bar in position, gritting his teeth and managing to lift it above his head. But he couldn’t get it steady. It began tilting.

“Come one Dedue,” Ashe said under his breath.

“Steady… steadddyyyyy.” Dimitri chanted.

Dedue righted the bar and slid his foot slightly to correct, but not overcompensate and held on. Feeling muscles and tendons shaking, but fighting that weakness. This was it. This was going to be the one.

The final bell rang and he let the bar drop back down to meet the earth, a new personal best added to the side of his name. He quietly made his way off the stage, same as the rest even with the crowd applauding, but a small smile tugged at his lips. This was a satisfactory result. And he couldn’t be more pleased with himself.

“It appears Holst is going for another world record of 264 kilograms in the clean and jerk!” Anna commented seeing the athlete coming back out.

Holst felt inspired looking at what the man from Duscur had accomplished. And he wanted to follow his example. He readied himself, taking his place with an excitable grin, and the bell played its shrill song yet again. He managed to get it to his shoulders and paused, catching his breath and yelling out as he forced it up above his head, his heart racing. Pure adrenaline pushing his arms up, a slight shake, knuckles turning white with the force, and veins popping out along his frame. When the bell rang once more, and Holst let the bar drop he looked as if he’d drop with it, hands on his knees, and doubled over-breathing. That same massive grin on his face.

“And that’s it, folks! With a world record of 264 kilograms in the clean and jerk, Holst Goneril has easily paved his way to the gold,” Anna commented. “His grand total, a record 484 kilograms!”

Holst, still catching his breath, made his way off stage where the media pounced. “Mr. Goneril, how do you feel about shattering not one world record, but all of them?”

He smiled, standing up straighter and letting the air come into his lungs.

“Well Anna, I wouldn’t have attempted it if my competition had put up less of a fight. But there’s something so inspiring about seeing the competition at this level, everyone pushing. It made me want to push too. But I am absolutely ecstatic! Next time I’m going for 500 kilos!” Holst confidently exclaimed.

“Now that’s the attitude I’d expect from the medal winner. Congratulations on your win!” Holst pumped his fists for the camera and turned to return to his coaches who were already cheering in their shared achievement.

Anna made her way over to Dedue. “Mr. Molinaro, how do you feel about your placement today?”

“Quite satisfied. I put my all on the line. And did what I set out to do,” Dedue answered in his typical monotone.

“The story coming into today was the rivalry between you and Holst. Has that changed in any way?”

“No. I never considered it a rivalry. I’m simply doing my best, as he his,” he said matter of factly. “However… one day, I do suppose I’d like my best to be better than his,” he added with a slight smile catching sight of Ashe and Dimitri waving in his direction. He’d like to give them something incredible to watch.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Molinaro.”

Dedue nodded curtly and made his way towards the stands. He watched his friends hop empty rows of seats to move closer to his level.

“You did great!” The smile on Ashe’s face showed exactly what allowed Dedue to complete his lift. Making his friends proud was worth more than a piece of shiny metal.

“You really did my friend. I am blown away, as always,” Dimitri added.

“Could all weightlifting medalists make their way to the podium?” Anna’s amplified voice made its way throughout the arena.

Dedue looked over his shoulder to where his friends were waving him off to, promising they’d see him outside. The rest of the Faerghus reps had finished up their training for the day and were already en route to celebrate.

He occupied the second highest spot on the podium, and his heart swelled with pride as Rhea laid the silver medal around his neck. It did not matter that he lost to Holst. He did his best, he was here with his friends, and he had achieved something incredible. And as the flag of Faerghus was raised up in the rafters, he felt a deep smile break free at seeing the blues that symbolized his home, where his friends were. That was home enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time doing anything like this and I would like to thank everyone involved in this project for their help along the way. I'd like to especially thank my beta reader, Edelgard_Eisner, who really helped me put this together. I would also like to thank TheUnqualified1 and AshleyRose for not only putting up with me and my inexperience, but for putting this project together!


End file.
